No. 1 Traveling Companion Sally and I met up with my Seattle friends Carolyn and David Caffey, who, by chance, had a Dublin anniversary trip that overlapped with mine. They’d booked us at Sole, billed as “a restaurant like no other in Dublin.”
Sally and I arrived early to investigate the bar, which is anchored by a sweeping colonnade of distressed steel apertures bolted onto rusted pillars, designed to evoke Victorian paddle steamers. The effect is exactly that: nautical-industrial, a little steampunk, genuinely striking. We were seated at a table off the bar, next to the mini fridge where they age-dried ribs of beef, a perfect spot for an omnivore chef and food writer like me, but not sure how other guests would feel about this. The rest of the room is quietly understated, grand but not fussy.
I’d come in mildly skeptical after reading The Irish Times review that noted the menu opens with a short lecture about Ireland’s extraordinary seafood, then lists sea bass farmed in the Mediterranean. A having-your-cake-and-eating-it approach, the critic called it. Meanwhile, the Irish Independent, complained that they had imported Norwegian King Crab on the menu. We sidestepped the sea bass and the king crab entirely.
Sally and I split the scallop starter, artfully plated with chili and anchovy butter, a parmesan and brioche crumble, and watercress. We also shared a Caesar salad which came with smoked, shredded pork belly, a nice upgrade. She went on to the chargrilled monkfish and chorizo skewer with arancini and caper beurre blanc. I felt obligated to order the signature: Sole Meunière, a whole Dover sole filleted tableside.
It made me think of my honeymoon in Brittany, which Mike Klozar and I cleverly took before the wedding, when a server delivered a whole sole to the table and returned to find I’d already filleted it myself, the backbone laid neatly aside, fish transferred to my plate. Force of habit from the kitchens of Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. He asked if I wanted a job.
Our waiter did a perfectly capable tableside job. The sole did not disappoint: fresh from Irish coastal waters, tender, softly bathed in nutty brown butter. Sometimes a signature dish earns its name. But 65 euro for a fish? It felt a bit spendy.
Note: The opening image of the bar at Sole was provided courtesy of the restaurant. All the others are mine so paw’s off, they’re copyrighted.
This is part of a month-long culinary travel odyssey in April 2026. Check out the main page to find out where else I went on this trip.
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